


An Open Circle

by Writingfish (idraax)



Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idraax/pseuds/Writingfish
Summary: Time travel au in which Alucard wakes up as young Trevor (Concrit welcome)





	1. Chapter 1

Trevor spends all day in the sun. After all the years of darkness, interspersed with scant bits of moonlight, sunlight is a marvel. It’s warm, very warm and he had forgotten what that felt like. He cries, human tears. They’re salty and he has snot dripping from his nose, but he is human again and it is wonderful. 

The Brotherhood does not know what to think of him now, but he doesn’t mind. He’s already planning on leaving, gathering supplies under the cover of dark. It’s harder than he thought it would be. Human eyes aren’t great at seeing in darkness and he’s gotten a few bruises that were difficult to explain away. 

Eventually, he amasses enough and slips away in a quiet moment. The world outside of the compound is warm. Summer still lingers, so he does not have to worry too much about shelter. 

It takes the Brotherhood about a week to notice his absence. He picks up rumors of them when he passes through towns and alters his course to avoid their searches. He gets farther from them by the day and the landscape around him darkens. The shadows start to linger more and more and every night, there are the howls of wolves. 

Then, one rainy night, he stumbles upon it. The castle in all its dark glory looms above him and fear mixed with longing drops down his spine. A perfectly timed lightning strike shows him an entrance and despite his hesitation, he steps inside. 

The air is cold, but it is dry and he hopes he can just wait out the storm without notice. 

He wanders a little further in, careful to only traverse where he can see. No need to alert anyone to his presence. 

Too late. 

He senses something behind him and turns. Dracul is there, surprise writ across his face. He looks younger, less angry if such a thing was possible. The rain is loud in the silence and he waits. He does not want to speak first, does not know what words he would blurt out. This was not in his plans. 

Eventually, Dracul speaks. Shook is clear in his tone, but Trevor also senses worry. Something he’d never thought he’d hear, especially in this time. 

“A  _child_? What are you doing here?”

Trevor is at a loss. He has not planned for this and there is so much he could say, so much he cannot, so much he wants to. He remains silent and Dracul frowns. Thunder booms outside and lightning lights up the space between them, empty. 

Eventually, Dracul sighs, carefully reaching out and letting a clawed hand hover over his shoulders. 

“Come on then,” he says. “Let’s go someplace less cold shall we?”

Trevor follows, a little bemused. Dracul is awkward, confusion showing in his movements. Already the future is changing, the unknown opening up before them. It’s different.


	2. Chapter 2

They eat in silence. Well, Trevor eats. Dracul is drinking something, probably blood. He’s surprisingly careful about it, not spilling a drop. Probably doesn’t want to scare him. Trevor, and it is odd to call himself that after so many years, doesn’t mind; he’s seen worse. 

“Where are your parents,” Dracul asks eventually. There’s a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. Trevor stares at it, feeling empty. The long-standing thirst that intensified whenever he saw blood was no longer there. It felt odd and part of him ached for it. 

He looked down at his hands, half-expecting them to be pale and clawed. But they were small and blunt, tanned a little from the sun. 

“My mother died,” he said after the silence had gone on too long. “My father….”

He didn’t know what to say. There were so many things he could say. He could tell Dracul who he was, what Dracul was to him. 

“He doesn’t know who I am,” he says eventually. “I don’t know how he’d react.”

Dracul frowned, absently licking the blood from the corner of his lip. Trevor stared. His father had never been that neat of an eater. Was it because of his presence?

Dracul noticed him looking and Trevor could see panic flicker across his face. His father really didn’t know how to deal with children, did he?

“Can I stay here,” he blurts. Dracul stares looking even more panicked now and Trevor quickly looks down at his plate. Why had he said that? The tips of his ears go red. He can feel the heat of the blush move down towards his cheeks. 

“Just until the storm passes,” he adds, quickly. This is a time before Dracul’s legendary anger. It’s nice. Dracul is calmer and Trevor wants to get to know this side of him. Their relationship had always been silence and distant and he had spent most of his time as a wolf away. 

“Please,” he says. “It feels safe here.” 

It really does. Over the years, the castle had become home in its own twisted way. It was nice to be back. 

Dracul studies him for a long time. He feels exposed, skin peeled back to show the raw feelings within. He keeps his eyes on the plate and does not look up. 

“You may,” Dracul says and there is that look in his eyes that Trevor was only starting to decipher. Softness. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dracul’s eyes lingered on him as they walked through the castle. Trevor could sense his aura, faint enough that a normal human would not have noticed. But, he was trained by the Brotherhood and had Belmont blood in his veins. He wasn’t exactly a normal human. 

The sound of the rain accompanied them, mingling with the echoes of his footsteps. Dracul’s were silent, though he had made an effort to be loud in the beginning. It was surprisingly soothing, walking with his father like this. Before, their silences had been sharp and frigid, things to escape as soon as possible.

“I never got your name,” Dracul said, breaking it. There was that calmness in his voice again, along with an underlying note of anger. 

“Trevor,” he said. Dracul hummed, another odd thing. He had never heard his father make any sounds other than a growl. 

“A good name,” Dracul said as they continued down the hallway. It looked different now, the entire castle did. The darkness seemed softer somehow, less dark if that were possible. The walls looked cleaner, the colors of the tapestries brighter. It felt safer than it had before and with his father at his side, he was sure it wouldn’t hurt him. 

“Well, Trevor, what brings you to my castle?”

Trevor knew the real question, what he was doing out on his own. He couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t believe him, not with out evidence. He didn’t have any, just his memories. 

“I ran away,” he said. He may not be able to fully tell the truth, but he could partially tell it. A partial truth was harder to detect than an outright lie. 

“My guardians weren’t the best,” he continued not waiting for the prompting that was sure to come. The Brotherhood of Light was full of warriors. Through the years that he had wandered the earth, he had come to realize that none of them had known how to take care of a child. He had watched families, happy ones and had felt a deep yearning. He and his father had never been like that. No, their relationship had never come to fruition. Perhaps now, it could. 

Dracul stopped and there was that anger again. A familiar sight and Trevor felt relieved upon seeing it. This was the father he knew. 

“Did they hurt you,” he asked sharply. 

Trevor frowned, turning to look at the rain splattering on the castle windows. Had they hurt him? They had been training him, but outside of that none of the Brotherhood had touched him. They’d left him on his own and he’d spent most of that time in the library or working with his hands. 

“No,” he said.

Next to him, Dracul sighed, but he didn’t press. His father would have. Instead, they continued walking again. This time down stairs that were wider than he was tall. Why did the castle have these? None of its denizens were that large. 

Trevor wondered where they were going. They had been walking for quite some time and he could feel his legs ache. This body wasn’t used to walking for such long periods. He hoped they’d stop soon. 

“You’re not afraid of me,” Dracul said, after another period of silence. 

Afraid? Trevor laughed to himself, silently. He had stopped being afraid a long time ago. His worst fears had already come true. There was nothing worse that could happen. Besides, this version of his father wasn’t that scary at all. He was less angry for one and Trevor wondered what had changed, where that anger had come from in the first place. 

“You’re not scary,” he said, trying to sound like a child. 

“I’ve seen worse,” he added upon seeing the confusion on Dracul’s face.”You’re not the only scary thing out there.”

There is that softness in his father’s eyes again. It feels like sunlight. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dracul leaves Trevor in an old bedroom, telling him to yell if he needs anything. Trevor is quite sure he is within hearing range still. His father had always worried underneath the anger after all. 

He sits on the bed and sneezes. The sheets smell musty and he is glad of his dull, human senses. It would have been worse with his other ones. 

He wants to stay, permanently. This does not surprise him much. This revelation has been building all this time. Would this version of his father let him? He was lonely. Trevor  _knew_  loneliness. All those centuries of wandering the earth and telling tales to a silent coffin, the losses that even now ached within his soul. 

None of this had been in his plans, but his plans hadn’t extended much beyond getting away from the Brotherhood. He had expected to die when he had stepped into sunlight, his father’s scream in his ears. Instead, he woke up in a garden with the sun beaming down upon him. 

Had this changed things enough? Would he still die by his father’s hand? He could find out, still remembered the way to his father’s first throne room. The mirror was there; he could look within. 

“A child,” came a hiss from the doorway and he looked up, hands gripping the knife strapped to his hip underneath his shirt. A beast, black as the night outside, loomed in front of him. Spit dripped from its jaws and as it stepped inside, he could see the metallic spikes protruding from its back. 

“What are you doing here,” it hissed as it sniffed the air. A broad, red tongue licked at its hairy mouth. He drew out the knife, keeping it out of view. 

“No matter,” the monster said when he didn’t answer. “You smell delicious. I’m sure you’ll taste so as well.”

It lunged it him and he dodged, rolling underneath the bed and sending up a cloud of dust. Panic stabbed at him. He was small, weak and had a dull knife. He couldn’t fight it the way he was. The most he could do was run and find a place to hide. 

Before he could move, a large paw reached in. It thrust its caws into his leg and dragged him out. He screamed, slashing at its face when he was brought closer. It reared and flung him back. He crashed against the wall and dust fell, covering them both. His leg was bleeding; he’d have to staunch it before the other denizens sensed it and came looking. His head burned, but felt intact. There was no time to check. The monster was coming towards him again. 

He rose to his feet, a little wobbly. The monster lunged. He tried to dodge. There was a snarl, a brush of darkness and his father was there, between them. One clawed hand grabbed the beast as it sunk its teeth into flesh. His father snarled and flung it away, other hand tearing it in half. 

Silence. Dracul stared at the beast, panting. Trevor took a step, hissing as pain sliced into him. His father turned and his eyes went wide. He had smelled his blood. 

Trevor’s mind blanked. He couldn’t lie. The scent of his blood gave it away. What would happen now?

Dracul flung the blood off his claws. It splattered somewhere, on the walls probably. His father looked at him, taking in his features and trying to place them. He took a step towards him and stopped.

“What was your mother’s name?”

It was the most careful, fearful tone that Trevor had ever heard. He swallowed the rush of emotion that came with it. 

“Marie Belmont,” he said and the words rippled in the sudden silence. His father’s face changed, fear becoming surprised shock mingled with joy. 

“I have a  _son_ ,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “ _You’re_  my son?”

Trevor nodded and tried to take another step forward. The gash on his leg throbbed and he felt himself buckle. 

His father burst into mist, appearing beside him and holding him upright. 

“You’re hurt,” he exclaimed as if he hadn’t just smelt his blood. 

Trevor nearly rolled his eyes. This, at least, was a familiar side of his father. The others had been too new and foreign. This and the anger were the only things that made sense. 

As Trevor let his father fuss over him, the realization that he could learn to properly love his father took root. 


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a forthnight and still his father looked at him with shocked awe in his eyes. Trevor understood; he couldn’t believe he was really here either. He still expected to see the castle crumbling every time he turned a corner.

He was never alone, though the empty hallways gave the illusion that he was. Dracul was always there, lurking. The moment Trevor said his name, he would appear.

He walked into a room and stopped, blinking out of his thoughts with a shudder. Just in front of the wall on his left was a throne, his father’s.

Slowly, he turned his head in the opposite direction. Fear crawled up his spine. His mouth dried, heart leaping and settling into a frantic beat.

The mirror was in front of him, glowing.

Immediately, he shut his eyes. His fate had already happened. Why was it glowing?

The urge to look was strong. It twined with the fear, causing him to clench his fists. His nails dug in, hard enough to pierce skin. His father would be here soon, always attuned to the smell of his blood.

Anger rose, a dragon’s rage and he was opening the doors again, watching his father attack his son. He moved, small feet stumbling until he was in front of the mirror.

His reflection looked nothing like him; this was not his body. His body was gone, burned to ash when had stepped into the sun for the first time in centuries. Why was he here? What power had brought him back, had stuck his soul in the body of his younger self?

The mirror in front of him offered no answers. It just glowed. The rage climbed higher in him. Something in the room roared.

Crash!

A shattering sound. Glass at his feet. Embedded in his hands. His reflection glaring back it him multiple times.

Blood gushed from the cuts. He clenched his fists, further opened up the wounds.

“You will not control me again,” he hissed at it.

Magic sparked in the air like static. His? The mirror’s? It didn’t matter. He could use it, could destroy the mirror completely. It wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

His throat hurt. He was dead. He was dead and staring at the mirror as it showed him what had happened. There was screaming. So much screaming.

He was old. Young. Human. Vampire. He had claws. No, he didn’t. Fangs bit into his lips. No, teeth. He had teeth now.

His mind fractured. The mirror reflecting it. So many possibilities, not enough.

His son was dead.  _He_  was dead. His father a monster; he had to go fight him. No, he didn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t  _there_.

There was a hand in his hair. He was drenched in blood and kneeling on the ground with a mountain of corpses in front of him. Gresit. The whole village gone. His fault.

“ _Trevor_!”

He was on the floor, bleeding. His father was in front of him, kneeling. Behind them stood the empty frame of the mirror. Glass was sprinkled at their feet, embedded in the walls.

For once, there was absolutely no sign of anger in his father’s being. Only fear.

He tried to swallow. Pain screamed through him. His dry and shredded throat protesting at the movement. His body ached, like it had done that day when he had woken to pale hair and clawed hands.

He wanted to curl up somewhere warm and go to sleep for a few centuries. Everything hurt.

A clawed hand cupped his cheek, cool against his burning skin. He leaned into it, shards scraping against him.

“Don’t move,” his father said. Faint alarm twisted through him. His father’s voice sounded like  _tears_.

Gently, so gently that all he could feel was the slightest pressure, arms came up to wrap around him. He was lifted off the ground, blood splashing downwards, and held against a cool, firm chest. It felt nice, safe.

“It will be alright, son.”

There was that faint alarm again. His father’s voice sounded  _broken_. He wasn’t supposed to sound like that. He was supposed to be strong, untouchable.

Deep down, he knew that was a lie. But, at this moment, he  _wanted_  it to be true.

“It will be alright,” his father said again and despite his misgivings, he let himself believe.


	6. Chapter 6

Panic was not something Dracul had felt for many years. Yet, he felt it now as he bandaged his son’s wounds. They hadn’t known each other very long, but already his heart was making space for something aside from anger.

As he wrapped the last bandage around Trevor’s wrists, he found he missed Marie with a fierceness that surprised even him. She had always been better with children.

 _Marie_. Trevor wouldn’t even have had a year with her. Sharp, bitter guilt rose in him again. How much of this was his fault?

Gently, he ran his clawed fingers through his son’s hair. It was shorter than Marie’s, but as black as his own. Trevor stirred a little under the touch, face creasing in pain before smoothing out again.

What had his son seen in that mirror? He knew he should have gotten rid of it. Yet, something compelled him to keep it around. No matter, it was quite thoroughly destroyed now. Trevor had seen to that.

He shifted on the bed. Trevor wouldn’t wake up for quite some time. The exertion had exhausted him and sleep would heal him. He could stay; there was nothing pressing that would tear him away.

His son moved closer to him. A small hand reached out to grasp his coat and he gave into the urge. He lifted the sheets and climbed in next to him. Immediately, Trevor curled closer as if sensing his presence.

He curled a hand around him, mindful of his claws. His son’s breath tickled his chest. For the first time since he had become a vampire, he could feel the rage extinguish. Was this what his life could have been like?

He lay on the pillow, bringing his chin down to rest on his son’s head. Trevor’s steady heartbeat was soothing, reminded him of the nights he had spent with Marie. He was warm and comfortable, the grief lessening enough for something new to bloom in his heart. Not even noticing, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Trevor woke, a little too warm. He wriggled a bit, trying to get some coolness. Sunlight pierced him when he blinked and he squinted at it, trying to remember what happened.

His hands throbbed as he moved them and he hissed, trying to raise them up so he could see.

“Trevor?”

He didn’t think he’d ever heard his father sound that groggy before. Generally, he had always sounded angry with underlying notes of weariness and grief.

He hummed in acknowledgement. His throat still hurt; the dryness made it worse and he pulled away a little to scan the room. Dracul let him go, moving away slightly, but still hovering.

There was a goblet on the side table and he reached for it, glanced in and put it back. He couldn’t drink that anymore. Was this his father’s room? He didn’t think he’d ever seen his father sleep. The time with the sword was more of a coma really.

“What is it, son?”

Dracul’s voice held that gentle tone that he was quickly getting used to and he swallowed, tried to speak.

“Water?”

The word came out like sandpaper. His throat burned and his hands twinged as he lifted them to touch it. His father moved, rising and reaching for something he couldn’t see and soon there was a goblet pressed into his hands. He peered into it, then sipped it slowly.

Normally, his father would have demanded answers by now. But, he seemed content to wait patiently until he was done drinking.

He didn’t have a good explanation for this. Perhaps he should tell the truth? No, his father wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe it either, except for the fact that he could walk in sunlight and not burn. Even in his dreams he had never been able to do that.

All too soon, the cup was empty. He set it down on the side table and looked at his father.

Once again his father surprised him.

“I won’t ask what you saw in the mirror,” he said. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

His father was really trying wasn’t he? Something small and bitter, that he had long ago buried for the sake of peace, softened. He swallowed hard. Maybe he could tell him part of the truth. The mirror had given him a convenient excuse.

“I saw my own death,” he said, quietly.

Next to him, Dracul tensed, but did not speak. He closed his eyes. Even now, the memory was still sharp, had never faded at the edges. The pain still ached in his chest, though no scar marked the place where it had pierced him.

“I died,” he continued. “I died and woke up again….as a vampire.”

His father made a noise, a low-bitten off growl that thrummed through his bones. It reminded him of a dragon’s roar. A clawed hand gently cupped his face, careful not to scratch at the skin.

“ _Nothing_  will happen to you,” his father said firmly. “I promise you that.”

Dracul’s rage was a terrifying thing, one that leveled cities. It had never been directed at him and it still wasn’t. His father would destroy any who dared hurt him, even the Brotherhood,  _especially_  the Brotherhood.

He nodded, leaning into the touch.

“I know”


End file.
